Your card to slight, I'm much distrest, Your card has robb'd me of my rest: Should I attempt the nuns to accost The priests might growl, and all be lost: My cash might fail me when to pay; No chance, perhaps, to run away;-- So, I decline the needless task Return to Charleston, with the cask Of wine, you send from Teneriffe, To glad some hearts, and dry up grief: I add, some dangerous neighbors here May disappoint my hopes I fear; The breakers near the vessel roll; The lee-ward shore, the rocky shoal! The whitening seas that constant lave The craggy strand of Oratave; The expected gale, the adjacent rock Each moment threatens all our stock, And Neptune, in his giant cup Stands lurking near, to gulp it up. But here's a health to Neptune's sons Who man the yard--nor dream of nuns. [184] From the edition of 1815. ON SENIORA JULIA Leaving a Dance, under Pretence of Drowsiness[185] She, at the soul enlivening, ball, And in the lamp illumined hall But small amusement found; She shunn'd the cards' bewitching play, She shunn'd the noisy and the gay, Nor cared for music's sound. No nymph discover'd so much spleen, Was so reserved as Julia, seen On that enchanting night: And yet she had her part to say When young Almagro shared the play, Then cards were her delight. But he retired, amid the dance; He heard, he said, of news from France, And of a serious cast: He wish'd to know beyond all doubt, What Bonaparte was now about, How long his sway would last. Then, Julia made a good retreat, But left the assembly incomplete; She was with sleep oppress'd.-- Who shall the midnight dance prolong Who lead the minuet, raise the song Where Julia is no guest? Yet, love declared her judgment right, And whisper'd, when she bade good night And feign'd an aching head, "While some retreat and some advance, Let them enjoy the festive dance, You, Julia, go to bed." [185] From the edition of 1815. LINES ON SENIORA JULIA of Port Oratave[186] Adorn'd with every charm that beauty gives, That nature lends, or female kind receives, Good sense and virtue on each feature shine; She is--she is not--yes, she is divine. She speaks, she moves with all attracting grace, And smiles display the angel on the face; Her aspect all, what female would not share? What youth but worship, with a mind so fair? In this famed isle, the cloud-capp'd Teneriffe, Where health abounds and languor finds relief; In this bright isle, where Julia treads the plain, What rapture fires the bosom of the swain! At her approach, the breast untaught to glow, Like the vast peak, retains eternal snow. Feels not the first, best ardors of the mind; Respect and awe, to love and friendship join'd.